Wondering
by kaleidoscope-eyes94
Summary: It is not a very Black thing to do; to wonder. Blacks know, Blacks assert, Blacks demand. But, then again, when it came to Moony, Sirius never could be very 'Black'


Wondering

Sirius wonders. It is not a very Black thing to do; to wonder. Blacks _know_, Blacks _assert_, Blacks _demand_. Perhaps that was why Sirius was disowned; his wondering. It seems a fairly asinine reason, but that Walburga Black is an enigma. An enigma wrapped in a cold hearted bitch, that is.

Sirius wonders frequently. During lessons, during meals and, to James' utter – _for fucking fuck's sake Padfoot FOCUS _– dismay, during Quidditch matches. He just can't help himself; it's a problem.

An example of Sirius' incessant wonderings is the colour brown. Brown – almost amber, when hit with the right light. It is a wondrous colour; brown-almost-amber. It is warmth and affection and a mischievous twinkle that alludes the untrained eye, but most of all it is a tingly feeling that pools around the stomach area and threatens to extend to the groin at the most inopportune times.

Another is smiling and its synonyms. There can be childish cackling and gratuitous grinning and, Sirius' personal favourite, as it seemed to favour emerging in post-shag haziness, surreptitious smirking. Sirius loved it so much because it screamed a waywardness that was for his eyes only.

It is this smile – Sirius' all time favourite – that Remus is giving him right this second. They are both in Remus' bed, curled around one another in a sticky tangle of gangly limbs and unerring adoration, and it is this smile that Sirius cannot for the life of him tear his eyes away from.

'Padfoot.' It is hazy around the edges, it exudes sleepiness and love and it is the most perfect sound Sirius has ever heard. Remus' eyes are closed, and his top lip is twitching in a battle between sleepiness and laughter. 'Padfoot; stop fucking staring at me and go to sleep.'

Sirius can't stop staring at him, though. He never could do and he doesn't see a time where he ever will be able to. His chuckle at Remus' pseudo-irritated request puffs out against Remus' cheek, and he thinks – and hopes – that it is this action that causes Remus' enticing lips to curl even further into a smile.

His Moony is lexically unfathomable. He is a combination of kindness and books and freckled beauty that the untrained eye cannot see, but Sirius knows it only too well after the painful mooning period and the glorious requited present. This is why Sirius' eyes are focused solely on this stunningly scarred boy; he is strength and passion epitomised, and this makes Sirius feels the oxymoronic emotions that only Remus can provoke within him; those of total pride, and of total pain.

Remus had told him before, at a time where night and morning blurred and the sky was the kind of glorious one only recognised upon having not enough sleep to function, that Sirius' love terrified him. It terrified him because it made him so utterly happy that he couldn't imagine living without it anymore, and so the day when Sirius left him would be the day his heart refused to beat anymore. Sirius had expressed his answer in the way of 'shut the fuck up, you fruity git', punctuating each sentiment with a kiss that left no room for doubting Sirius' promise to stay with Remus every second of his breathing existence.

'I like staring at you. You're pretty.' Remus' smile curves even further upwards at this declaration, but he attempts to deny appreciating it with a derisive 'oh, fuck off Padfoot'.

It is only Remus, _his _Moony, that can captivate Sirius in a conversation where one side's eyes are closed the entire time and his only input is that of an offensive nature. Sirius can sense that the conversation is over; his Moony is tired, and even Sirius himself – the man whose energy levels rival that of a hyper child – can feel his heavy eyelids drooping. So he closes his eyes and nestles his head into the crook of Remus' neck and thanks any entity that had the benevolent grace to proffer him the privilege that is waking up to a sleepy Moony; whose hair is reaching skywards and whose clothes appear to have disappeared in a dormitory full of prank-loving seventeen year olds.

It is this present, and the always enticing future, that fuel Sirius' wonderings. For all Sirius can see his future offering is a life of having his Moony by his side and the Marauders together in a wizarding world that is theirs for the taking; and it is this thought that sends him to sleep with a smile on his face and a magnificently strong boy by his side.

And it is also this thought that tortures his very soul for twelve years as an unnamed prisoner; when wondering becomes masochistic torment and the gaping absence at his side becomes tangibly heartbreaking.


End file.
